


Across That Line

by paintstroke



Category: True Blood (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - World War II, Attraction, F/M, Getting to Know Each Other, Vampires aren't known, WWII AU, blood bonds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:14:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26179327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paintstroke/pseuds/paintstroke
Summary: Godric tasks Eric with returning a wounded nurse to her unit.
Relationships: Eric Northman/Sookie Stackhouse, Godric & Eric Northman
Comments: 15
Kudos: 90
Collections: Alternate Universe Exchange 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Corina (CorinaLannister)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CorinaLannister/gifts).



He should have met the true death.

The first thing Eric was aware of when he woke was the pain. He was weak. He was also wrapped lightly in something silky, something that had likely saved his life, if his shaky memory of the sun’s broiling light was anything to go by. Pain screamed through his limbs as he tried to move them, the sun-charred layer of skin flaking against the silk covering as he freed himself. He wasn’t in the ground anymore, wasn’t in the forest. His memories of the moments in between were scattered. He’d gone to ground. Then an explosion, blinding light, pain. The whistling screeches and thunder of mortars and artillery splintering the trees. Humans around him, when the forest had been empty before dawn.

He pushed the memories away. Where he was, there wasn’t any light, but he needed little to see in the dark. A rough canvas tent sheltered him. By the smell and shape, there were bodies around him, also wrapped in pale silk. Parachutes, he slowly realized as he touched the cords wrapped neatly around the nearest form. He paused a moment, listening for anyone coming, any signs of life, but the night felt empty of human activity. He pulled back one of the silk shrouds, looking at the uniform on the body beneath. American. Eric must have gone to ground on the path of one of their platoons. Whoever had shrouded him had ironically saved him from meeting the true death by assuming he was already gone. 

The burnt layer flaked to pale skin as he moved. The itching sensation reassured Eric that he was healing, even as the process sapped his energy. He slipped out the tent flap, looking around. 

The scent of blood and decay was heavy in the night air, but it was old. Lines of tents stretched across the field, a few of the door flaps creaking as the early evening wind took hold of then. Heavy treads made rumpled lines through the mud. He moved cautiously. Inside the next tent were sawhorses and planks, tall hooks holding empty bags of plasma. It seemed abandoned. This must have been a casualty evacuation point, one of the field hospitals. He must have been brought here in the confusion. His clothes were nondescript, he was glad he hadn’t still been wearing the SS uniform. 

He needed to feed, and quickly, if he was to have the strength to find Godric again. He glanced around, trying to get his bearings. The steeple of a church rising in the distance promised a town of some sort. It was as good a target as any. He quickened his steps in that direction, too weak to think of flying. 

As he approached the road, he skirted around a recent wreck. One of the army trucks lay on its side, the lingering scent of burning fuel and metal sour in the air. It had been an unlucky strike. A shattered stretcher and a handful of bodies told a sorry tale. Still… the scent of fresh blood beckoned, though it was barely more than a whisper underneath the smoldering rubber. 

And one of the bodies still had a heartbeat. 

Eric staggered towards that soft rhythmic sound. It had nearly been hidden underneath the wind and snapping canvas. 

Opportunity alone that drew him towards the survivor. He was physically weak; he needed blood. It wasn’t a sense of nobility; he didn’t aim to give the human a faster, more humane death. He sat next to the wreckage and gathered the wounded soldier against him.

He didn’t realize it was a woman until he did so. The fatigues had hidden her form, but as he shifted her, he could see the small bun peaked out of the back of her helmet, the more delicate jawline. Briefly, he hesitated. 

No matter. 

Blood was blood. She wasn’t likely to have survived anyways. Not with the way this field hospital had been abandoned. 

Her eyelashes fluttered weakly as he stroked a hand down her neck but she didn’t regain consciousness. He undid her helmet, leaving it on the ground. She was bleeding from a scratch along her temple, the blood half-dried. Her blood, the promise of strength, of life… he took a moment to savor the anticipation while fangs slid out. She was small enough that he could hold her against him with one arm. He brushed the hair from her neck and leaned in. His lips found her pulse and he couldn’t hesitate any longer. His fangs sank in easily. She didn’t flinch, didn’t wake, as her lifeblood spilled out around the new wounds. 

In that moment everything changed. 

He had never tasted blood like hers before. Life was always sweet after close calls but this was something more. She tasted like summer, like memories of warmth. He shivered. Part of him wanted to drain her then and there, to take all of that warmth inside him, to see if that light would warm the parts of him left cold by a thousand years of death.

He forced himself to draw back. It was a supreme test of will to retract his fangs. He gathered her up, her weak heartbeat reassuring against his chest. 

Godric’s mental query shattered his contemplative mood. The touch of his maker’s mind was a reassurance that Godric was unharmed. Eric felt the direction of the connection between them as the tug of the call filled his veins, insistent in its pull. 

He thought briefly about laying the human back among her unlucky brethren, but decided against it. Maybe this unique human would be enough to pull Godric away from his recent moodiness. It was worth an attempt, at least. 

Eric cradled the wounded nurse in his arms and he flew, using the low clouds as cover.  


  


* * *

"Don't you even want to taste her?"

Eric’s initial relief at seeing Godric unharmed had been tempered by his listless reception. 

Godric barely glanced up before shaking his head. 

All Eric’s effort to get the woman to their rendezvous point was wasted. 

"At least scent her, tell me she doesn't seem… delicious." When he had first returned, Eric had placed the wounded woman on the couch in the sitting room, arranging her as if she had just fallen asleep there. 

Now, Eric's worried gaze followed Godric around the small room as the older vampire paced. This village, now mostly abandoned, had been blacked out before the raids. No barriers had stopped Eric and Godric at this particular apartment’s threshold. Its human owners must have abandoned it at some point, making it easy for the vampires to take as a temporary shelter. Heavy covers over the windows in thick cloth provided decent sun-proofing. The vampires didn’t need much light, but candles burned on the rough-hewn table. 

"I'm not hungry." Godric touched Eric's cheek as he passed. He let his hand drift over the wounded human, touching the Caduceus pin at the collar of her olive fatigues. He didn’t seem interested in the blood that still seeped slowly from her wounded side and the scratch over her temple. 

Eric didn’t understand. She was a novelty. A curiosity. She tasted like no other human he’d ever sank fangs into. There was something tantalizing underneath the human scent, something powerful, but not a shifter. He’d been walking the earth for a long time, and hadn’t encountered anything like the shimmer in her blood. 

"Take her back to her people. She has no place in this." Godric turned away, the matter settled in his mind. Eric froze. He’d been planning on draining her just to see what would happen if Godric refused. It was too risky to move with a human and if he fed deeply on her now, he wouldn’t have to find other victims for the next few nights. 

"Taste her once and I'll do so," Eric countered, certain that if Godric were to get his fangs into a meal it might change his detachment. “Tell me what makes her taste like she does.” 

Godric looked up, piercing Eric with a bitter gaze. "You are not listening.” Eric felt a glimmer of hope with the faint anger underneath Godric’s words. Anything was better than apathy.

Godric touched the back of Eric’s neck, drawing him close. “As your maker, I command you to get her back to her people unharmed, if at all possible." Godric had learned the language of Eric's people, as Eric had learned Godric's mother tongue long ago. Godric used old Viking tongue now but the familiar language didn't make the command easier to stomach. 

Eric’s hopes sank. 

Eric drew away from Godric, towards the table covered with letters, some disguised in complicated codes and others left in unguarded German. The branded werewolves had gotten more stealthy lately. The last two he’d killed had not kept any correspondence on them, so the clues he treasured were out of date. He crushed the fleeting impulse to sweep the papers to the floor dramatically. “I have other plans.” He needed to find the leader of the wolves; the immortal who had killed his human family so long ago. 

Godric remained silent, leaving his order standing. 

"Why?" Eric demanded, shifting closer to the woman. The scent of her blood this close was overwhelming. The memory made the roof of his mouth itch. Like the youngster he definitely no longer was, he let his fangs slip down, half out of control, although he couldn't counter Godric’s order, could no longer harm the woman. He'd learned that nearly a thousand years ago. 

"Because, my brother, she—or her people—shielded you when you were vulnerable. They saved your life." Godric's eyes had that soft detachment that worried Eric so much. Eric reminded himself that once, Godric had been death incarnate, tried to cling to that memory. "She has a good heart. A nurse, trying to keep others alive in the midst of this carnage. Shouldn’t we try to match that? Can’t we grow beyond simple bloodshed? Live for something more?"

Eric’s response to that was better left unvoiced. Eric still felt uncomfortable when Godric got like this. It was easier to deal with Godric when he was fierce and magnificent and deadly. That version of Godric, Eric knew how to handle. That version of Godric was admirable. Attractive. Another warrior, a kindred spirit. 

In retrospect, what he was about to do would seem rather petty. He knew the high esteem in which Godric held the blood. 

He bit roughly into his own wrist, shifting the emotional pain to something he more easily understood. He let himself bleed into the unconscious human's mouth, glaring at Godric, challenging him to comment. 

Godric gave a half-smile that held no mirth. The disappointment was heavy in his expression, and he turned away. 

So be it. 

Eric felt the connection as the life force shivered and stretched between him and the nurse. He was aware of the fading pain, below the level of her consciousness, as her wounds healed. 

With the strength of his age, Eric clamped down on the magic that bound them, forcing it to stay manageable, to not lapse into dreams and visions. The blood connection could be many things; this wasn’t the time or the place for the more… enjoyable aspects. 

The woman woke a little later, and jerked back into the furthest corner of the couch, her dark eyes going wide with a wave of fear that drowned out her initial disorientation. Eric held himself rigidly, trying not to get lost in her emotions. His blood tied her to him, but he hadn’t been expecting the bond to be so powerful. 

Godric stepped in when Eric stood frozen. 

"We aren't going to hurt you," Godric said, the German of the region rolling easily from his tongue. 

She looked back and forth between them, the blind panic not receding. The nurse’s hands tightened on the upholstery and Eric didn’t miss having a heartbeat, not when it raced like this and felt close to bursting in fear. 

"Where am I?" she asked in hoarse English, her American accent pulling at the vowels.

Eric forced his fangs to retract, which didn’t change the predatory nature of his smile. He tried to quell the way her emotions unsettled him. "Far from where you were," he said, matching her language and feeling pleased as she went white. 

Godric shot him a disappointed look, knowing exactly why Eric said it like that. Godric always saw through it when he tried to forge a sense of control. 

"Your transport was hit," Godric said gently answering her in English as he moved into a crouch next to her. Safe. Nonthreatening. A deliberate contrast. “The medical detachment pulled back. We found you and took you to somewhere safer.” 

Her hands slipped to her side, felt the tattered shreds of her dress around a wound that no longer existed. Her eyes widened. 

Godric put a push of power into his words. "That whole area is a battleground now. It's a miracle you woke up unhurt," he said. 

"A miracle..." she repeated. The nurse frowned. She touched her head. "I feel..."

Eric knew how she felt. He could feel the desire, the giddiness; the rush that vampire blood brought. Even second-hand it was... compelling.

“What is your name?” Godric asked her, taking her hand. 

“Sookie,” she said. “Sookie Stackhouse.”  


  


* * *

The proper response to waking up and hearing two unfamiliar men speaking an unfamiliar language was terror. It wasn’t giving them her name, not so easily. Distantly, Sookie knew that, but she couldn’t quite access the willingness to feel fear. It would be all right though. Name and serial number were allowed. Nothing else. Training had drilled that into her. But her ANC training felt long ago and far away.

She felt amazing, like she was floating, like the strangers and the surroundings were nothing consequential, something unreal that couldn’t possibly matter. She wasn’t injured, but she was not in her right mind. A head wound? She tried to move her head a little, but there was no sense of pain.

Sookie touched her side again, her memories insisting that she’d been hit. She could feel the pressure of her own hand on her unbroken skin. Her overcoat was torn, her fatigues were tacky with someone else’s blood. Had they gotten the last of the wounded out? She coughed, trying to reclaim a stronger voice as she twisted onto her side to see more of the room. She attempted to sound authoritative. “You should have saved the morphine for someone that needed it.” 

It was the best possible explanation for feeling like this and she wanted to be cross about it. It was hard to hold onto anger or annoyance while her mind was drifting above her body like this. She touched her side, her ear, finding more tacky blood, but no wounds, no pain at the press of her fingers. 

The tall blond man, like Sookie, was splattered with blood and the layer of grime the soldiers’ seemed to collect as easily as breathing, though he wasn’t in a uniform. Neither of them were. Sookie tried to focus her drifting mind, tried to look him over for injuries. The younger man looked at her, a calm intelligence in his expression. “Make sure she returns safely to her unit,” he told the taller man, sounding as if he were in charge. 

The tall man bowed his head in acquiescence. 

“You don’t remember seeing me at all,” the young man at the side of the couch said. 

She stared back at him. She fought against the haze of the morphine, wondering if that was why his words weren’t making sense. “What do you mean?”

“You never woke up here. You were knocked unconscious by a mortar blast.” He touched her hand again, and this time she flinched away. 

“You’re cold,” she said, worried. He frowned. He looked to the older man. 

He was captivating, and she was sure that she would have remembered meeting him before, despite the nagging sensation that something about his features was familiar. It took her a moment to realize that her mental shields were as scattered as her thoughts—and she couldn’t hear either of them. 

The blond approached. “You’ve never seen me,” he said, very soft and very intent. 

Sookie reached out to touch his face, something she’d never have done without this strange feeling in her veins. He was beautiful, and not a hallucination. She touched his cheek, felt the roughness of stubble beneath her tentative fingertips. She didn’t understand, but nothing felt like it mattered. The haze cushioned her from reality. There were no consequences. 

Sookie smiled, a bit giddily, too far gone to truly feel nervous. “What’s your name?”

He drew backwards, stepping away from her with a curious look on his face. “My name is Eric,” he said after a long pause, the puzzled expression not leaving his features. 

She tried to etch that into her memory, but reality felt liquid around her. “Eric…” she repeated, as her eyes grew heavy again. 

It was strange. The soldiers she’d treated, bandaged and stitched had complained of the bitter taste of morphine. But on the back of her tongue, all she could register was something faintly metallic, coppery, like she’d bitten her tongue in the blast. 

At least, where her mind was, there was no pain. 

Already, the room was sliding into a dreamy blur, memories of her home in Bon Temps, of spring and warm weather, of familiar wallpapers and swampy wetlands. Eric turned to his companion, slipping back into another language. It wasn’t German. Sookie didn’t feel a flicker of worry as she drifted off.  


  


* * *

“If she can’t be glamored we can’t risk letting her live,” Eric said, temper flashing.

“She’s resistant. It’s intriguing, is it not?”

“We should rid ourselves of her and go back to hunting wolves.” Eric lapsed into the sulkiness of a child, knowing that it wasn’t an option anymore. He cleared the table, bundling the papers together. He touched the edges to a candle’s flame, watched the messages curl and blacken before dropping them onto the bare stones of the hearth. He’d memorized the important bits. The references would all likely be out of date by the time he could get back; no use to anyone. 

“We’ve seen nothing of the wolves lately.”

Eric growled. “I’ll hunt through the mountains, through Austria, through Italy. No forests will shelter them from me.” But the art pieces mentioned in the first letters were gone by the time he’d tracked them down. His best guess was they’d been disappeared into somewhere like Portugal or Morocco and out of the warzone to where-ever the collector had his dragon’s hoard. Eric’s rightful crown was likely among the priceless stolen goods. There were always opportunists in wars. 

“This warfare is not good for the soul, my son. It doesn’t matter if you find the wolves earlier or later.”

He pinned his angry gaze on Godric. “You _know_ why it matters.”

Godric gave one of his serene smiles. “We have time. As does their master. Let it go for now, my son, my brother.” He placed a hand on Eric’s shoulder, and Eric let his eyes fall shut. He sank to his knees in front of Godric, his loyalty and obedience overpowering his personal feelings. “Take a moment, remember what it is to care for someone.”

“I care for you,” Eric said, very softly, but he knew Godric would hear. He turned his face towards Godric’s hand, stopping short of kissing Godric’s fingers. 

Godric cupped Eric’s cheek and smiled again. “It will be good for your soul,” he said. “Remember what it is to walk as a human.”

“And you?” Eric asked softly. 

“I’ve grown tired of this place. These modern battles have no beauty, they bring me no pleasure.” Godric ran his hands through Eric’s hair, cut short to blend in here. Eric let the gesture soothe him, leaning into the gentle pressure. “Go home, when you are done here. Find your progeny. Bring some peace to your life.”

He bent, placing a kiss on Eric’s forehead. For a moment, Eric wanted to cling to him like a true child might. 

“With the shifting front, the Wehrmacht could be back at any time. From what I’ve seen, they aren’t sparing civilians this time.” Godric dropped his hand from Eric’s hair. “Be safe. Come find me when you’ve found peace in your heart.”

Eric wanted to protest, but Godric was moving back towards the door. Fear tightened his chest; fear that he wouldn’t see his maker again, that this attitude would destroy Godric. He watched as the door swung closed. 

Godric had left, but his command remained, an active buzz in the back of Eric’s mind. 

Eric stood and frowned at the recovering human. The blood shared between them couldn’t act as a closed loop circuit—since he’d fed from her initially, she wouldn’t recover as notably as if he had given his blood to someone else. And she’d attract attention as she was, bloodied and in the uniform of the Allies, now on the other side of the front from where they were. He didn’t particularly want to deal with more human interactions. 

Eric was tempted to drag her outside as she was, but even the darkness may not hide enough of the blood. He leaned over to shake her shoulder, roughly waking her from the healing sleep. “We’re leaving soon. Pull yourself together.”

She stared at him with the blankness of the drugged before she blinked, only slowly comprehending. He despaired of how tedious this journey would be. He could feel the fear flickering behind her gaze. Her scent beckoned him closer and he fought against that pull, closing himself off. Godric could order him to return her unharmed, but he couldn’t control how Eric felt.  


  


* * *

  



	2. Chapter 2

The man—Eric—left the room. She heard him moving around the place. She took her time sitting up, her head still feeling off. When Eric reappeared he threw a dull red coat at the couch without a comment. Sookie didn’t want to think of where it’d come from, but she couldn’t turn it down. Her fatigues were tattered along the side, bloodied and filthy. It was a relief to hide the damage. She was glad he hadn’t expected her to change all her clothing, and pulled on the too-large coat. It came down to her fingertips, boxy and shapeless, but it would keep the cold night air away from her exposed side. Through the haze she knew that was important. December had grown cold, a bitter damp cold that ate through clothing and left nothing but chills behind. 

He didn’t speak as he looked around the room. He blew out the candles. As far as she could tell, they left no trace of their stay in the little apartment. The narrow, dark stairs in the hallway led to a door that backed onto an alley. Sookie practically had to jog to keep up with Eric’s long-legged stride.

She took a breath.

“Keep quiet,” he snapped, before she could ask him anything, not where they were going, how long it would take. Things that she thought might be important, although she still felt too light for her body, as if she were floating above herself. 

She shut her mouth. 

Instead, she tried to force herself observe the surroundings, trying to remember the briefings the ANC had given on the areas around St. Vith. The town they slipped through wasn’t really worthy of the title ‘town’. The little crossroads held a feed store, a butchers, a cheese shop, a small cluster of houses and apartments. The road seemed like it would have been easier to follow, but there was a thin dirt path stretching away from the town, and Eric strode directly towards it. His confidence pulled her along, a tether to reality. Almost immediately they were in dark fields. They left the town behind them.

  


~*~*~

  


The morphine-induced sense of invincibility was slowly ground back down by reality. At first, the return of her telepathy seemed delayed. Is this what it was like to be normal, Sookie wondered to herself as she cast glances over at Eric, to not know what was on someone else’s mind? She’d never had to wonder what anyone around her was thinking. 

They walked on in Eric’s stubborn silence. Sookie slowly started to wonder if it was her telepathy that was shaken, or if it something else was at work. She usually kept her mental shields tight; an instinctive protection, and she had to consciously force her mind into a receptive state. There was a sensation that went deeper than a simple lack of reception. A void surrounded Eric. She’d never felt anything like it. It was fascinating. She’d never felt a mental signature like that before. She couldn’t help but watch him. He didn’t seem to feel the same need.

“How far do we have to go?” she asked, when she could no longer stand the silence. 

He glanced over to her. His blank expression masked any emotions. “I’ve never had to walk this route.” He turned back to the path. 

Sookie didn’t flinch at the cold words. She hurried along, hands jammed deep into her pockets to keep them warm in the cold night. Time crawled slowly with nothing to distract her.

“Where did your friend go?” Sookie wondered about the gentle young man. For a fleeting moment she wished that he was there with her, instead of Eric. 

“He left.” 

Sookie narrowed her eyes and was ready to give Eric’s obvious reply a sarcastic comment, but she caught the tension in Eric’s jaw when she glanced over at him. That, at least she could interpret. There was pain there. Loss. A determination to not think about something painful. She’d seen that look far too often in soldiers. 

It made his icy aloofness seem like something adopted for protection rather than out of anger. 

“Will he find us again?” she asked, gentling her own tone. 

“He has better things to do.”

Sookie watched Eric’s profile, trying to tease apart the truth from the lingering anger. She’d gotten used to letting anger wash over her in the last few weeks—the wounded soldiers lashed out unintentionally, the wounds not always only physical. The fear for someone you cared about was a particularly cruel form of helplessness. 

“Are you soldiers?” she asked cautiously. In some ways this man could be. He was the right age, but there was something rebellious and dangerous in his attitude, something that made her think that he wouldn’t take well to the required discipline. 

“Of a sort.”

“With the Allies?” she had to ask. 

He turned his cold gaze on her again, and this time she could clearly read the irritation in his features. She tried to push away her fear. She held her chin up, unwilling to cower, challenging him. 

“We are on the same side,” he said finally, after a long, considering pause. She wasn’t sure she believed him, not entirely. “Members of the Schutzstaffel killed my family,” he added, voice low. “I was close to finding those responsible.”

His lips thinned. “And now I’m traveling in the wrong direction.” 

She reached out to touch his arm, an apology for pushing too far. Something softened in his features. “I’m sorry,” Sookie said. “I’m good with a map, I could go on my own. You’ve done enough.”

He raised his eyebrows, contempt back in place. He didn’t gift her with a response, just turning to continue walking. 

Sookie stumbled. The long, half-frozen grasses and slick muddy trail seemed designed to catch unwary ankles. Almost instantly, Eric caught her elbow, keeping her upright.

Off-balance, she grabbed onto him, her hands finding purchase in the lapels of his coat. She caught her breath at the sudden closeness. He was handsome, beautiful in his cold way. He would have been attractive if he was kind rather than cruel. It was more than being startled by the slip that made her heart race. Eric held her up easily, her weight nothing against his strength as she got her feet underneath her again. 

When she had her balance she jerked away from him, fighting her own thoughts. She didn’t want to find it thrilling to be next to him. 

He stared back at her, and she was thrown for a moment by the sheer inability to read his thoughts—or even his face. He drew his own hand back slowly and she was left wondering what he was thinking.

  


~*~*~

  


Eventually the path left the fields, and they climbed up a steep bank to the woods. Some distance in, they came across a logging road. The area felt abandoned, but the trees gave a sense of shelter. 

It didn’t last long. 

A low buzz seemed to emanate from the ground. “Tanks,” Eric said softly, when he noticed Sookie looking at her feet. He glanced back down the logging road, and ushered her across it, moving faster now, getting deeper into the trees. 

Sookie only made the mistake of looking back once when the road was still at the edges of her sight. The shadows of the approaching tanks as they inexorably plowed west drained the strength from her legs. She brought her hand to her mouth, stifling her impulse to cry out. 

Eric was there before she could sink into the fear and despair. He pulled her along, deeper into the trees. She kept her gaze on the ground, watching for tree roots and hollows, terrified of breaking an ankle, terrified that Eric would abandon her to be found by the enemy.

  


* * *

  


The trees were larger, and Eric put one between them and the road. He pressed her into the large trunk, sheltering them from the distant road, his hand across her lips. She shook, but made no sound. Her eyes were open, and he willed her to focus on him and only him. 

The danger was exciting. He could sense arousal mingled with her fear, but she kept a tight hold on both, letting neither show on her face, although she shivered slightly against him. At another time he might have pushed forward. Fear and lust were a heady combination, one he’d often savored. 

He slowly drew his hand away from her mouth, stroking the backs of his fingers across her cheek. The night air gave a chill to her soft skin. She didn’t scream, her dark eyes wide and terrified.

Her arms slipped up between them. She gripped his shoulders, one hand warm against the side of his neck. She held him there rather than pushing him away. For a moment he thought she was going to pull him into a kiss. 

Eric held himself completely still, looking down at her, waiting to see what she’d do. She was suddenly more interesting than he expected. 

Her self-control remained firmly in place. He shifted his body against her, and briefly, her eyes slipped shut and she let her head rest back against the cold bark of the tree behind her. He could feel the swell of her breath, the flicker of desire through the blood bond. 

But she resisted. 

The rumble of the tanks died away. Neither of them moved. The silence around them felt smothering. Her heart raced, and he was drawn to the pulse of her neck. For a moment, he was tempted to try. But Godric’s command had effectively dulled his fangs, he could feel the pressure barrier that wouldn’t let him bite. _Unharmed._

“What if they find us?” she whispered, as if she was unable to keep the thought to herself. 

Fear, then, had overpowered that glimmer of desire. Disappointing. He was tempted to give her a cruel and detailed explanation of what could happen instead of the comfort she was asking for. He told himself that he didn’t because she would be harder to travel with if she was paralyzed with fear. After all, she was in uniform. She knew what would happen. 

“They won’t. The front is far from here. Their attention will be… elsewhere.” It was probably safe to move, but perversely, he resisted. He lowered his head towards her hair, drinking in the scent of summer that seemed to cling to her, even in this wretched place. 

“What are you?” she asked. 

Eric stilled. He hadn’t expected that. He was proud of his ability to blend in when he wanted to. 

He realized that her thumb was over an artery that hadn’t had a pulse in a thousand years, her hands still at his neck and shoulder, holding on as if she could borrow his strength. Eric gave a half-smile, knowing that without glamor, her knowing too much about him was an open defiance of the Authority. That, also, was tempting. Still. He kept his fangs sheathed and lowered face towards hers. 

“I’m your protection,” he replied. Godric had seen to that. 

Her could feel her skepticism, her unabated fear. 

“You don’t have a weapon,” she pointed out. 

He smiled. “I don’t need one.”

She turned her face, breaking the intense stare. After a moment, she pushed at him, trying to slip under his arm.

He let her. 

“Do you think it’s safe to start walking again?”

“Relatively.” Eric touched her back and headed westward, paralleling the logging road, distant enough to feel hidden as they wove through the old trees.

  


* * *

  


Another few hundred meters into the forest, the scenery around them changed. 

The forest looked like a scene out of a nightmare. Trees had simply exploded where they stood, fragments littering the snow, trenches and artillery craters mingled. It was heartbreaking to see these abandoned, remote fronts. She wrapped her arms around herself, feeling a chill from more than the cold. There had been a battle here. Maybe she’d treated some of the soldiers in it, before they’d withdrawn. She had no sense anymore of how far they were from St. Vith. 

She was exhausted. Maybe the sight of the battle scars drained her. She tried to remember the last time she’d eaten. Last night they’d been run off their feet at the field hospital, prepping the wounded to move. And the long day before that had had too many injured men, she’d been kept on shift… and then the withdrawal, the mortar…

She knew her steps were slowing. She trailed further behind Eric, who was now stopping and turning more frequently, impatient with her weakness. 

She wanted to ask if they could stop and rest, but she swallowed the words. She didn’t want to admit she couldn’t keep up. So although her feet ached and her legs felt leaden, she pressed on. The cold seeped through all her layers.

She was relying entirely on a stranger’s navigation. 

The forest ended abruptly, and they walked on in moon-soaked fields.

  


* * *

  


There was something admirable in being so fragile and yet so tenacious. Through his blood in her veins, Eric could still feel the fear and determination. 

He took pity on her. He stepped closer, pressing his cheek against the side of her head so that he could speak in a voice softer than a whisper. It was an excuse to hold her close for a moment. “It is only a few miles to the next village. There’s a sympathetic family who will shelter us.”

But they didn’t quite make it to the village he had in mind. They moved slower than he had anticipated, even with the strength she had taken from his blood.

The outline of a tank on a nearby rise stopped them cold. 

The barrel of the main gun was pointing west, away from them. The tracks had churned up the field behind it, and a layer of frost glittered over the rich soil. It hadn’t moved recently. He didn’t hear movement inside, but at this distance that didn’t mean much—and in this war he was most vulnerable at a distance. He didn’t want to learn if he could heal the blast from a tank’s rounds, nor deal with the spray of machine guns. It would be unpleasant, regardless. 

“Wait here,” he whispered, pressing Sookie into a crouch behind the dense hedge and short stone wall that divided the farms. 

Eric slipped over the stone fence first, slowly pushing into the dense hedge.

A tug on his sleeve made him stop and turn.

There was a fear in Sookie. At first he thought it was just the appearance of the tank itself. But there was hesitation, too, an uncertainty that wasn’t quite right for his understanding of the situation. 

“No one’s in it,” Sookie whispered, shaking her head. 

He felt his eyebrow rise. “Oh? And how do you know that?” He matched her soft tone. He hadn’t heard anything. With his senses he should know. But her? How would she? At least if she got herself shot in her own foolishness, it would not be a breach of the command he had been given by his maker. 

She stared back at him. He met her assessing gaze. 

“I can hear people’s thoughts,” she said. “There’s no one on this farm.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Can you?” 

She nodded. He felt her vulnerability, and trusted that she was not lying about this. Very intriguing. “From how far away?” Eric asked, choosing to focus on what was directly relevant. 

Sookie shrugged. “Not too far.” She shifted her gaze away. “It’s easier if I can get close enough to touch. But if there was anyone there… or in the farmhouse… I’d know.”

He studied her for another moment. “Can you hear my thoughts?”

Slowly, she shook her head. Her eyes looked impossibly dark when they flicked back to him. “I’ve never met someone like you.”

Eric’s smile was slow and dangerous. She had no idea how true that likely was.  
  


* * *

He approached the tank anyway. It was devoid of human operators, maybe only recently. The interior smelled strongly of humans, of fear and unwashed bodies, of old injuries. He eased himself in slowly, examining what had been left behind.

The lack of fuel told the story of this one. Perhaps they thought they’d be back for it, there was still ammunition for the large cannon and boxes of smaller shells that might be for smaller weapons, but no personal weapons had been left. The pictures and trophies taped to the interior were of no use to anyone, but he took a ration pack that had slipped behind the turret-seat. He climbed out and glanced at the clouds above. The tank would be a target as soon as the Allies could see it. 

He went back to the farmhouse. He could feel the pressure of the approaching dawn. There was a choice to make—stay here, with the girl, and hope that she didn’t kill him when he was at his most vulnerable, or leave her, and hope that he could find her again, unharmed, when the sun sank below the horizon again. 

Neither option made him feel very settled.  


* * *

  



	3. Chapter 3

Eric pulled up a wooden door to a cellar. Sookie forced herself to walk after him. 

He glanced back at the skies to the east. “Come. We’ll stay in the cellar. It’s too risky to be moving around during the day here.” He looked past her, into the abandoned house. “We’ll go to ground,” he said, “and be on our way tomorrow.”

“Let me check the house first,” she said. 

“For what?” Eric looked back at her, clearly irritated. 

“Maybe there’s something to eat…”

He looked east, lips tightening. 

Sookie felt rage flare. “Just because you’re so tough…” She felt tears prick at the corner of her eyes, and hated the helplessness, the way that her exhaustion bled anger to something useless. 

He shut his eyes. “Very well. Be quick.” He waited by the trapdoor while she slipped into the main house.

Soldiers had likely been stationed there at some point. The furniture had already been in disarray. She poked around in the kitchen, hunger overriding her sense of guilt. When the people had left they had taken everything with them. She couldn’t find anything, not a forgotten potato growing long tendrils, no jars of preserves for winter storage, no cans, no nothing. The bedroom was in chaotic disarray; no blankets remained either. 

She felt completely discouraged. 

She exited. Eric was watching the sky warily. The clouds were still low and thick, a challenge for any pilots. Did he hear something?

“Did you find anything to eat?” Eric asked, looking in from the threshold.

She shook her head. “It’s empty.”

He ushered her towards the cellar. “Come on. It’ll be getting light soon. Let’s not get caught in the open.”

Sookie nodded, and started down the ladder. 

“You coming?” she called back up to Eric when she realized she was alone in the low cellar. 

“Yes.” 

He didn’t move. 

“Come on in, then,” she snapped, hunger fraying her patience and not wanting to face the dark space alone. 

This time, his feet were on the ladder as soon as the words left her mouth. 

The cellar was small and just as empty, cool but not as cold as the outside air. He pulled the door shut, sealing them in the darkness. 

“Do not leave for any reason,” he cautioned. 

But she was tired of listening to him tell her what to do. She gnawed on the hard dark bread, hoping that the a food would clear her lightheadedness. Her stomach had stopped growling long ago, now it was just a painful ache. She thought of her grandmother’s cooking, and wondered if she’d ever make it back.  
  


* * *

It was the first time she’d slept in the same room with a man she wasn’t related to. Despite her misgivings, she was tired, and drifted off. She woke, the unfamiliar noises of the house threatening and strange. Every noise could be danger. She clutched the blanket tighter around herself.

Eric had curled himself up in the corner. It may have been daylight outside, but she couldn’t see anything; the darkness was absolute. She felt around, looking for the staircase. She needed fresh air. She couldn’t hear Eric either, her own heartbeat and breaths seemed too loud. 

One of the trees outside creaked in the wind, the rhythmic scratches. She told herself to settle. 

She rolled over. It was as still as death in the little cellar. She wondered if Eric had gone, if she’d missed him leaving. She couldn’t even see her hand in front of her face. She waved her hand, testing out the idea, and couldn’t make out her fingers. She imagined things moving in the darkness. 

As a child, Sookie had devoured stories of the strange and dangerous, the unusual and paranormal. The Louisiana swamps had been full of mysteries, and it had been easy to listen to the folk tales and let herself believe. 

Once upon a time, her favorite stories had all featured the rougarou, the monster out in the swamps. Wolf-man. Monster. It had seemed closer; a more plausible threat to sleepy, isolated Bon Temps than the legends that came from New Orleans. Her gran had her own cautionary tales, of the feu follet, the little lights that would lure the unwary out to drown in the swamp, of the others, the fey folk, who could mimic human forms but for their beautiful, eternal light. But those had always felt excuses to get Sookie and Jason to come home after the sun started setting. The stories were silly things. Childish things. 

She’d gone to nursing school after high school, happy to leave Bon Temps and the reputation for strangeness that clung to her, thanks to her powers. She’d put children’s stories behind her, tried to make a clean break, had thrown herself into her studies. If her glimpses into someone elses’ mind could help; maybe the horrors and awkwardness and humiliation would be worth it. 

She’d had to treat her powers as just a freak occurance, a telepathy that didn’t mean anything more than a additional struggle. It didn’t mean that other stories were true. 

But that night, the stories that had most frightened her friend Tara were back in her head. There were details from those stories, details that kept scratching at her mind when she looked at Eric. Stories of alchemists; of eternal life and a horrible cost. Of a woman, bitten, escaping through window, and police returning to find an empty mansion stocked with bottles of blood. This man, who who didn’t breathe when she wasn’t watching, who’s heart didn’t beat when she touched him, who was no longer warm the air, who’s skin was cold to the touch…

She wondered just what was in the cellar with her. Jacques St. Germain had been their local tale, but other, more famous examples were out there. Dracula. Carmilla. Vampire. 

But those were just fiction. Just stories. 

Not like her.  
  


* * *

A sense of danger woke Eric.

In the darkness, he could see Sookie standing near the ladder. 

He was certain she was ready to open the heavy wooden shutter, the trapdoor. “I wouldn’t,” he warned, sitting up. 

A shuffle hinted that she’d turned to look back over at him. Even if he couldn’t feel her fear, it would be apparent.

He could feel the pressure of the light beyond the door, the oblivion that was trying to claw his mind back to the sleep of the dead. He gathered his strength. 

“What are you doing?” he asked cautiously, ready to move quickly if he needed to. 

“I just need some air.”

“I told you not to move.”

She turned back to the ladder and he burst into motion. 

He grabbed her hands, maneuvered her back towards her makeshift bed. 

“I can’t see!” her voice was high, her heart beating in fear. 

Unharmed. Godric’s words came back to him, unbidden, a slow pressure building against him, warning him that he could not challenge Godric’s command. The air around Sookie seemed to turn thick and slow as he pushed into it, stopping him. 

Eric hissed, venting his frustration. 

Her heartbeat ran rapid under his thumbs, fluttering in her wrists like scared birds. 

His fangs were moments away from dropping, and he had to gather himself. “Trust me,” he growled. “Do not leave.”

“What are you?” 

There was a shrill note to her voice that let him know he was not going to be able to pass as human. He chose not to answer. 

“Are you going to kill me?”

He sat back down, pulling her with him. She struggled, briefly. “If I was going to kill you,” he said, slowly and carefully, like he would to a particularly slow child, “wouldn’t I have done it when I found you?”

She didn’t have an answer to that. 

He felt the pressure release, his ear started to bleed. He needed sleep, especially if he wasn’t feeding. He slowly let go of her wrists, and this time she didn’t bolt for the door. 

“If you open that door before nightfall, we will die,” he promised her. “Go back to sleep.”

He waited a moment, listened as she wrapped her coat more tightly around herself, turning stubbornly to face the wall.  
  


* * *

Sookie waited. The army had been good training for that. She knew how to wait. Eric stopped stirring, and she wondered if that was a sign he was asleep, or if he was still watching her in the dark.

It must be nearly mid-day but the cellar let no light in, and there was definitely no hint of warmth. The cold floor leeched away at her body heat through the overcoat. 

She told herself she’d just wait another few moments. Just to make sure that Eric was really asleep, before she tried for the trapdoor again. One woman wouldn’t attract attention. Anything would be better than hiding down here. She shivered, counting her breaths.  


~*~*~

  
Sookie rolled over, ready to move. She was startled, realizing that time must have passed. She’d expected it to be too cold to sleep.

Eric had lit a candle and had moved closer to her, sitting and writing something she couldn’t see. The flickering light gilded the planes of his face, made his expression seem more open, softer. She couldn’t make out the room behind him, but her little corner of the cellar had been much improved.

“Where did you find all this?” 

His pen scratched along the paper. “Does it matter?”

She stretched, noticing for the first time how soft the blankets were. How warm it had become. “It’s nice,” she said, lulled into complacency. Contentment had replaced fear. She couldn’t remember the last time she had been so comfortable. Certainly not since her platoon had been deployed. Before the steamer. Before New Jersey. Maybe back at home, all those long months ago now. 

“Isn’t it?” He turned towards her, and his smile was gentle. Her musings were immediately forgotten. 

He let himself lie back on the bed with her, and she felt that same warm happiness as she had when she’d first awoke after the truck had been hit. 

Eric smiled at her, and tentatively reached out to trace her fingers with his own. He was so close, so intimate. It made her breath catch in her throat. 

“To find someone that understands what it is to be different… this is a rare thing,” he said, softly. 

She stared back at him, she felt at peace with his presence. “What are you?” she asked.

He gave a little laugh and shifted closer. “What are you?” he countered, a smile still on his lips. “Aren’t you going to trust me?” He pulled her hands to his lips, pressed a soft kiss to the back of her hand. He smiled, as if no matter what the answer, he’d be content at her side. 

Sookie couldn’t help but smile back. “A nurse,” she said playfully. “Just a nurse.”

“My dear Sookie,” he said. “I don’t think you are ‘just’ anything.”

His gaze dropped to her lips, and her heart began to beat faster. There was that sense of peacefulness, of right, to everything, as warm as the blankets around them. 

He moved slowly towards her, giving her time to consider. Her eyes flickered across his face. His hair was tousled, it gave him a softer edge, like he wasn’t so untouchable. Her heart raced. 

He looked just as uncertain as she felt, chasing the feeling that had sparked between them in the forest. He let go of her hand, pushing a strand of hair that had come loose from her bun off of her cheek, cupping the side of her face. His eyes searched hers.

The smart thing to do would be to tell him to stop. The smart thing to do would be to pull away, to draw the lines clearly between them. Sookie hesitated. Her heart wasn’t racing in fear this time.

She made her choice.  


~*~*~

  
She woke with the memory of gentle pressure on her lips, but the basement was cold and dark, and comfort was far from her reality. The cellar would have likely smelled damp and mouldering if the air wasn’t so icy. She shivered. It felt like, despite the daytime, the temperature was dropping.

She went to grab for the blanket, but only touched her wool coat. There was no proper bed. It had been a dream, despite how real it had seemed. There were no noises in the cellar, nothing to suggest Eric was even still there. Just the sound of her own breathing in the enclosed, claustrophobic space.

Terror ran through her veins again. The constant fear was becoming a familiar companion. She sat up, running her hands along the chill floor near her. She couldn’t see anything. “Eric?”

But there was a shift, a slight rustle of a movement, and she managed to breathe again. “I thought you’d left me,” she whispered. 

“Rest,” he said. The words were rough, thick, as if it cost him to speak. 

The lack of gentleness was a stark contrast to her dream. Mortified, she hoped she hadn’t made any noise during her dream. Her cheeks heated and she bit back angry words at his sharpness, trying to remind herself that he might be far more exhausted than her, that he hadn’t eaten either. 

Sookie let her head fall back on the cold, hard ground of the cellar. Maybe she could convince her body to fall back into a dreamless sleep.

  


~*~*~

  


Sookie climbed up the ladder to the open trapdoor. The setting sun was low on the horizon, painting the clouds in warm pastel tones. It smelled like spring, like new growth, something fresh and green and wet. 

Eric stood like a sentry, unmoving as he looked across the field. His long coat flapped against his legs in the light breeze. 

When Sookie got to his side, she saw the distress on his face. 

“What’s wrong?” she asked. 

“I’m worried for him,” Eric whispered, not looking at her. “I wish he hadn’t left.”

His friend, Sookie realized, though she’d never gotten the name of the other man. She knew what it was like to worry about family. 

There was a certain vulnerability that came with telling the truth. Cautiously, Sookie wove her fingers in between Eric’s. 

He let her. Again, she wished she could hear his thoughts. She didn’t have much to offer in the way of reassuring words. This war left nothing certain. But Eric wasn’t the only one worried. The desire to soothe Eric’s fears was surprisingly deep. Usually she could maintain a superficial tone, hell, it was required for her job. Instead, she opened her own heart.

“My brother was sent to the pacific theater,” she said softly. Her fingers tightened in on Eric’s hand. “I worry about him all the time.” She gave her own half-smile. “He’s not so good about writing, so I keep telling myself no news is good news.”

She leaned a little closer, the need to touch growing stronger. 

He turned to her, and she wrapped him in a hug, offering what comfort she could.  
  


* * *

“Get up.”

Sookie couldn’t move, couldn’t drag herself from the heaviness of sleep. 

“It’s dark. Time to get moving.”

Distantly, she heard steps on the ladder, the creak of the trapdoor. The first step had to be opening her eyes, but they felt so heavy. It took her a few moments to manage it. Faint moonlight invaded the pitch-dark cellar.

She could see her breath.

The fog of sleep clutched at her brain. 

Strong arms lifted her and the blanket, and she let her head loll against a supportive rest. Eric’s chest. She tried to protest. She just needed a moment. But her voice didn’t come. 

“Hush,” Eric said softly. “We’ll move faster like this. Close your eyes.”

As much as she’d like to be contrary, it was too hard to keep her eyes open. 

“It’s okay,” she whispered. “I’m feeling warm again…”

He drew in a sharp breath, and she felt his fingers tighten on her knees and shoulder. “I’ll just rest a bit more and then I’ll be up…” there was a faint tremble in her jaw, that reminded her that she’d been shivering the last time she woke up.  


* * *

  



	4. Chapter 4

She was aware of a metallic taste in her mouth when she woke again, but she felt refreshed. She moved her fingers and toes, the memory of pain disappearing while she frowned. 

She looked up. It might be a hunting cabin or a woodsman’s retreat—there was a single bed and a woodstove in the corner burning, the fire snapping away cheerily behind the closed door. There was a flat, rather stained cooking surface and a few shelves with utensils that didn’t look like they’d been touched—or washed—in years. There was a draft blowing in between the gaps of the rough plank walls, but the blankets tucked around her were heavy. 

“Am I dreaming again?” 

“No.” 

She let her head fall to the side, and she saw Eric standing by the side of the bed. He looked pale. 

“Did you carry me all the way here?” 

He didn’t answer, and she took that as a yes. No wonder he looked exhausted. “Spend the day here,” Eric said, more gentle. “There should be enough wood to keep the fire going. The clouds will hide the smoke.”

There are other treasures too. A bottle of wine. A jar of cherries. A small block of cheese. American tinned rations. They weren’t the sort of things often found in the hunting shacks of the region. “Where did you find this place?” she asked. “These things?” Again, he didn’t answer, and she wondered if they passed by the remnants of another battle. She didn’t really want to know. She’d seen enough death. The sky outside was slowly lightening, and she realized she’d missed most of the night. 

He was at the door again. “Where are you going?”

“I have things that I need to get done. I’ll move faster alone. You need to recover your strength.” 

She wasn’t sure whether she should be relieved to be left alone, or not. 

“I don’t think anyone will bother you here. Stay warm.”

“What about you?”

“I’ll be back at nightfall. Be ready to travel.”

He disappeared before the dawn broke. 

When the sun came up she became very aware that they weren’t near the farm anymore. The little hut was surrounded by trees. 

She ate slowly, trying not to shock her stomach. She napped a little, because she knew Eric would want to be moving when he returned. She heated up the water, wrapped her hands around a ceramic mug, and tried to think of the heat of Louisiana and not the bitter winds outside. She wished she had a book, or paper and a pen. There wasn’t much to occupy her thoughts. So when the heat made her drowsy, she drank a little of the wine and napped again.

  


~*~*~

  


She dreamed of Eric, again. 

The cold air blew in with the open door, and she pulled the covers up higher around her face. The bed dipped, and she turned to see Eric sitting on the edge of the narrow mattress. 

“Did you miss me?” he asked, eyes bright. 

Sookie couldn’t help her own answering smile. “I did,” she said, and was surprised by how truthful the words were. “I’m glad you came back.”

The bed shifted, and he stretched himself out alongside her. “I’ll always come back for you,” he promised, looking serious. 

He traced her lips with his finger. It tickled slightly, and she parted 

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, and leaned in to kiss her. 

His lips were soft against her own. His tongue teased against her lower lip, his teeth a blunt pressure as he found the sensations that made her gasp and grab onto him more tightly, pulling him close. She wanted to feel every moment of this. He was confident and teasing, never letting her quite catch her breath, always leaving her wanting a bit more. She lifted up off the mattress, chasing his kiss as he pulled away. His soft laugh coiled heat low in her belly, and she wanted him to be as lost as she was. 

Sookie pushed his jacket aside, and he sat up to help, stripping his upper layers. She touched the revealed skin, and he let her for a moment, and then he was lifting the covers and slipping in beside her. 

She wanted this so badly she was shaking. He cautiously cradled her underneath his body. The bed was really too narrow for them both, but neither of them cared. 

Sookie pressed eagerly against him, reveling in the sensation of his hands against her skin, under her clothes. It felt so right. There was no trace of shyness in her as she held him against her body. 

He pulled back, once, searching her eyes. “Will you be mine?” he asked. 

The unusual phrasing didn’t phase Sookie. “As long as you’re mine,” she answered, and pulled his hands closer to where she needed them. He let her guide him, and she sank into the pleasure he offered.

  


~*~*~

  


The last memory of her dream made her think she’d woken with someone curled around her. But she’d been alone when she stirred. The forest outside was silent. A little snow started to fall. She kept feeding wood into the fire. More waiting. She’d be back at the next field hospital soon enough though, long shifts and the harsh realities of the wounded. 

She breathed out.

She loved her job. She loved the feeling of being useful. But the knowledge that she’d have to leave Eric tempered her thoughts of returning. 

She’d never been one to be obsessed like this. It made her feel a bit uneasy. But even as the sun started going down, Sookie’s attention was drawn back to the windows, hoping to catch sight of Eric returning. 

When she did catch sight of his now-familiar figure on the path, the joy erased her cautious doubts.

  


* * *

  


When she asked, Eric said that they were still in Belgium, but to their north, the line of fighting was shifting. They could hear the rumble of the attacks at the horizon, and she hoped that the artillery was theirs. This far away it just sounded like a distant storm. 

She got the impression that they’d covered more ground than should have been possible, but she didn’t know where they’d been, and it was difficult to pin down Eric’s answers.

It was still early evening when they saw the dark silhouette of the town on the next rise. The thick, low clouds pressed the moonlight into the frosted fields. Propaganda papers fluttered along with the first flakes of snow while they got closer to the town.

The cobblestone streets were reassuring after days of traveling through the woods and back roads. The soles of Sookie’s field boots clattered familiarly. 

They walked, Eric more conspicuous than she was; not many young men were around, and certainly none without uniforms. They were stopped and questioned as they entered. Sookie spoke for them both, answering their random-seeming questions, until she was taken by the elbow and led away from Eric, presumably so they could be questioned separately. She had to start from the beginning again. 

“My name is Sookie Stackhouse, 2nd Lieutenant,” She took a breath and gave her serial number. “I was separated from the 42nd field hospital, 3rd platoon during the withdrawal from St. Vith.” She dug out her dog tags, the morel plates warm from her body heat. She found the plasticized card with her picture, as much of her ID as she still had on her. There was still traces of blood on the tattered end.

The questions got… stranger… after they looked over her papers. 

The young man looked up from her documents. “Who’s Betty Grable dating?” he asked, as if the pin-up girl was a friend and they were catching up. 

“Betty Grable?” Sookie wrinkled her nose. Even before she’d been separated from her unit, the BBC hadn’t been the best source of American news, on actresses or otherwise. She doubted the soldier wanted to gossip and looked warily at him. “What do you mean, who is she dating? Did she divorce Harry James already?” 

_—lucky fella—_ She got images from his mind, images the pin up that’d been above his bed, a flash of jealousy mingled with relief. She’d passed some sort of test.

“Why…?” she asked.

The soldier smiled tightly. “Last week we captured a few German spies in stolen uniforms. Spoke English very well - had the slang down and everything. From POWs.” _—Fucking Nazi assholes, I’ll kill them for the way they dragged that information from our guys—_ Anger practically vibrated from him, and Sookie wished she could erase the burst of images from her mind. He spat, then immediately looked apologetic, eyes flashing back to her as a blush. “Sorry, Lieutenant.” Although she wasn’t cringing from his crass manners, she nodded. 

_—control yourself Jesus Christ there’s a lady here have you lost all sense, mother would kill me if she could see fuck I wonder if I just ruined my chances I wonder if any of the nurses would give me a chance if she’s leaving that guy maybe she’s looking god it’s been forever since I’ve had my hand on—_

“I understand completely, Corporal,” Sookie assured him, and tried to shore up her shielding, uncomfortably aware of how complacent she’d become while traveling with Eric. It had been so easy. She could feel the beginning of a headache as she concentrated on keeping her mental shields in place. 

The corporal glanced over to where Eric had been taken aside. The soldiers had approach him with more caution. She didn’t hear what they ask, she assumed it was more of the same. She worried. He had visited America, but he wasn’t American. He wasn’t local either, and she worried that there might be trouble. For a brief moment she let her shields drop further.

It wasn’t the rapid, jumbled thoughts of the soldier she was talking to. Their minds were blank, almost like a radio tuned to static. Slowly, the silence receded and she started getting broken fragments again. 

_—she’s lucky the resistance found her, bloody hell—_

_—I hope James finds the same trail, haven’t heard any news since he dropped—_

_—good men those resistance blokes, hope like hell they can soften the way into Germany too—_

One of the men clapped Eric on the back, and offered him a cigarette, which he turned down with a smile. They left him. 

He sauntered back over to her. “Well, Lieutenant,” he said, using her rank for the first time. It was jarring, a sudden departure from what she’d grown used to. It was the crash of the fantasies that had invaded her thoughts and her ‘real’ life, here. 

She looked away. The sight of the red cross flag tacked near a doorway was nearly enough to make Sookie cry with relief. It was a return to her job, what she was meant to do. She was back where she could make a difference. 

And yet… 

Eric was suddenly very close. 

“This is where I leave you.” Eric bent to bring his face close to hers. He touched her cheek, and she shivered. 

“Be safe,” he said. He bent, kissing her forehead briefly. “Goodnight, Lieutenant Stackhouse.”

He took a step back, and she… she wished it were something more. She opened her mouth.

_Wait,_ she wanted to say. But the word didn’t make it past her lips. Everything between them had been in her dreams. It hadn’t meant anything, not really. Her chest felt thick with how much she wanted it to be otherwise. 

He turned and moved off down the street, moving silently, just another shadow. He turned, while she could still see some detail, and saluted her playfully, and then he was gone. 

She followed his mental signature, just seeing if she could. She lost track of him a few houses away, his silent void disappearing into the hum of soldiers and officers around the town.

She found out that her unit was bivouacking in Balan, back in France, resting before returning to the front. She managed to find an officer who was in contact with someone higher up, who could tell her that she could rejoin her unit when they approached Neufchâteau, to build yet another field hospital. 

She took shifts with the Red Cross in the meantime. She was used to triaging, although she wasn’t used to the people here and was half-underfoot instead of helping. 

She wrote a letter to her Gran. Borrowed a sheet of paper from an officer and filled it with tiny, neat writing. Gran was a romantic, so she described the last few days as an adventure. The last time she’d written, when they’d been based back in Bromyard in England, she’d described a sweet-seeming soldier who had, ironically enough, been from a nearby town in Louisiana, and she was pretty sure that Gran had been almost as disappointed as Sookie when that had ended as it had. 

She wondered what Gran would say if she did actually meet someone in this godforsaken war, if she brought a certain tall European man back to Bon Temps… It was an interesting, idle thought, but even in the safety of her own mind she couldn’t see it working out. He was too sophisticated compared to the men of her home town. She couldn’t bring him back to the yellow house she loved. Maybe she’d stay here… 

All of it was entirely moot, though. 

She wondered where he’d gone. 

The dreams followed Sookie, not allowing her to move on. She began to cling to them, trying to remember them when she woke. Thick beds and exotic locations. She’d never had an imagination like this before, had never been so completely focused on sex. 

Then again, she’d never met anyone who hadn’t ruined their own attractiveness through their mental chatter. That mystery that Eric held was…

Gone. Not an option. She shook her head, trying to clear it. She was reporting for duty tomorrow. She needed to get her head on straight. 

That sense of regret, of wondering what might have been, followed her.

  


* * *

  



	5. Chapter 5

**Paris, Three months later**

Sookie clutched her leave papers as the train rocked along back to Paris. The liberated city was a shadow of what it had been five years ago, but it was still somewhere she never thought she’d be able to see.

The French she heard was nasal and precise compared to the dialect spoken in Louisiana. Fancy. She didn’t understand as much as she should have. Half the city was still empty, its citizens staying in the countryside where there was more food, even now, even with America dropping supplies. 

She stepped out in a train station bigger than any building she’d seen. 

“Don’t stare,” Maudette whispered, jabbing her with an elbow. 

“Why?” Sookie asked, raising an eyebrow in disbelief. “You think we’re going to look local?” It was ridiculous. They were in uniform. Everyone knew they were American. So what if they stared?

Most of the train passengers were army—she caught sight of airborne patches, hopeful smiles and thoughts fluttering around her mental shields. The GI’s were drawn in by Maudette and Dawn’s flirty smiles. They offered cigarettes, the promise of a meal in a proper Paris café that wasn’t a C-rat. If Sookie ever opened another tin of lima beans and ham it would be too soon. 

Maudette linked an arm with one of the young army officers, and pulled Sookie and Dawn along with her acceptance. 

Sookie could clearly hear how much their girl’s weekend was not going to happen. No matter how intently they’d assured their Captain that they’d stay together. That wasn’t going to happen—not with what Maudette and Dawn had in mind. She blushed at what she overheard and tightened her mental defenses. 

Some thoughts broke through anyway. She tried not to cringe at the mental hopes of the dark-haired man who took her arm. Her smile grew very wide as she struggled to keep it in place. 

“Hello,” he said. 

“Nice to meet you,” Sookie said tightly, though it was nothing of the sort. She was reminded of Bill, who’s thoughts had been so controlled. He had thought of her as an angel, had taken her out for the first few weekends while she’d been stationed in England, getting ready to ship over. That relationship had burned her, it had been a passing thought of his wife and children back home that made her realize he wasn’t what he was claiming to be. 

It had been hard to trust men after that. 

At a particularly crude thought, she took her arm back, no longer wanting to be touching the soldier. She couldn’t do this. 

“I’m afraid I’m not feeling too well after all,” she gathered herself together. “I might head back to the hotel early, see where they have us staying.”

“Are you sure?” Maudette asked, looking at Sookie with her big hazel eyes. “I’m sure you’ll feel better after some real food.” She leaned into the man next to her. “And what doesn’t dancing cure?” she asked. “C’mon, Sookie, how long has it been since you were at a real bop?” 

Maudette meant it, even though the thought of that many people in one place made Sookie feel exhausted. 

“I just don’t think I’m up for it. You two go ahead!” She forced a cheerful smile, showing too many teeth. 

“Shame to hear you’re not feeling well, Lieutenant Stackhouse. Perhaps I can escort you to where you are staying?”

The voice washed over her, leaving her slipping into the memories. The last few months the dreams had sharpened her regret. That voice was burned into her memories. She was almost afraid to turn, didn’t want her hopes to be shattered. Her shields slipped. 

_—never even had a chance—_

_—who has Sookie been hiding from us?—_

And to her left and just behind her, hovered the quiet darkness that she expected. Sookie just knew. Disbelief raised her eyebrows, even as warmth grew in her chest. 

Maudette and Dawn turned and appraised Eric. Their unspoken approval was loud and vulgar. 

_—look at him—_

_—wasted on her—_

_—maybe he’d like to dance, I could show him a move or two that’d—_

How often did you get a second chance? 

Sookie took a breath, quieted the voices. “I’d appreciate that,” Sookie said, cautiously, suddenly afraid that one wrong word would make Eric disappear again. She wondered if she were asleep on the train; if this was one of those darned dreams. 

She gave a tight smile to Maudette and Dawn. “Enjoy the dance!” She put an extra note of cheerfulness in her voice. 

The walked a little down the street, away from the re-opened cafés and restaurants of Montmartre. She quickly grew disoriented on the narrow cobblestone paths. Clusters of sandbags sat at the ready, obstacles to weave around. An excuse to step closer to Eric, to lightly touch her shoulder to his side. 

Electricity thrummed through her at the slight contact. This was real. Not a dream. 

“How long is your leave?” 

“Two days.”

“Not long at all.”

“More than some get,” Sookie pointed out, grateful to have any time away. 

“You’ve missed Paris at her best,” Eric said softly. “If you could take any more leave I’d take you to the countryside. This is a tragedy.”

“Paris was supposed to be so romantic,” she said, looking at the moonlight. The city of lights, struggling out from underneath blackouts and curfews. 

“It was, at one time. It will be again, I’m sure.” Eric spoke like someone who had seen much more of the world than Sookie had. 

“I didn’t think I’d see you again,” she admitted. “Isn’t this just a crazy coincidence?”

He smiled. “If you want to think of it like that,” he said. 

“What else could it be?”

“Fate.”

He trailed a hand down her arm and linked their fingers together. She was aware of how warm her palm was against his. Her heartbeat sped up. It had been so long since she’d let someone touch her like this.

Maybe it was the dreams that made her soften to the touch. Maybe it was his charisma. 

She followed him. 

This time, she didn’t want to regret anything. 

She let him lead. He moved like he knew the area, and slowly wandered to a restaurant, open late, as was the French fashion. The blockades still present on the streets told a different story, and she could read the signs that had directions to bomb shelters. 

It was far fancier than any she would have considered with her colleagues.

She shook her head as he tugged her hand towards the entrance. “I can’t afford this,” she said reluctantly. 

“My treat,” he whispered with a wink. “Allow me to provide some proper hospitality this time.”

It was definitely a contrast to skulking through the forest and over shattered fields, abandoned houses. 

She was self-conscious of her uniform. At least she was out of the field fatigues, the slim skirt almost to her knees, and her hair rolled into a victory curl. That had been Dawn’s idea. She’d helped both Sookie and Maudette. It had almost felt like days before they’d entered the nurse corps. 

Around her, there were signs that the upper class were flaunting the clothing rations, dressed in skirts with extra material, ruffles only half-hidden by their boxy coats. 

Eric gestured a waiter over, and spoke in soft French. The waiter didn’t seem surprised, and nodded to his requests. 

Sookie didn’t catch much of the words. Wine was brought out for them both. Eric’s seemed thicker than hers, and she didn’t want to think about that too much. There was also a very small glass of coffee placed in front of her. Real coffee. She curled her hands around the tiny cup and breathed it in. It wasn’t the bitter ersatz acorn grounds they sometimes had received. It was real.

  


* * *

  


She accepted his offer of a walk after dinner. She didn’t want to trade this time for anything. She wanted to keep talking, as if they could escape the curfew that was looming over them by not acknowledging the late hour.

“Where have you been?” she asked, trying to ignore how sweaty her palms were growing. The sensation of moving towards something was overwhelming. 

“I went to Austria, for a while.”

“As a spy?” she asked, one of the few options she’d managed to come up with for what he was actually doing. 

His smile was cryptic. A typical non-answer. “There are some very interesting mansions in the Alps that I’m sure the Americans will be… pleased to occupy.”

“Did you find what you were looking for?” She didn’t want to ask ‘who’, didn’t really want to think of more death. Not tonight. Not when they had been lucky enough to find each other again. 

He studied her. “No,” he said. 

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

He gave her that enigmatic half-smile again. She got the idea that he knew far more than what he was telling her. “I may return to the States after this… tour.” He used the term like they might have in the army, although Sookie was fairly sure it didn’t apply. The thought that he’d be in her country opened a new set of possibilities. 

“Where?” Sookie couldn’t help the surge of hope. 

“I have a business in San Francisco. But I may take some time to travel if my associate has done well in my absence.” He met her eyes, his gaze heavy with the implied connection. 

“Oh.” Sookie said, trying, and failing, to keep the wishful tone out of her voice. She hesitated, then remembered the last few months of dreams, how much she’d regretted leaving things like they had the last time they had parted. She took a breath and plunged, hoping that the unknown waters wouldn’t drown her. “You should write me, if you ever want to come to Louisiana.”

His smile grew. “I’d like that,” he said, voice low and promising. His fingers stroked along the back of her hand and Sookie let her eyes drift closed, just wanting to feel his touch.

He shifted, moving slightly closer. She was very aware of the brush of his body against hers. “Would you like to come back to my apartment tonight?”

It was almost too forward. Too soon, even though she ached with how much she wanted to. Sookie hesitated. She remembered the regret she’d felt when he’d left her in Belgium. How lonely the nights had felt. That had been after two days. Just two days of traveling together. The uncertainty in his expression promised that this was something more. Her heart beat a little faster, and she nodded.

  


* * *

  


The mix of excitement and anticipation was enough to make her dizzy. She couldn’t have retraced her steps if she had tried, all her attention seemed drawn to Eric and to what their steps were carrying them forward to. 

He pulled her against him as they entered an apartment building. The narrow stairs were excuses for exchanging kisses. His touches were driving her wild. They were through a doorway, and all her attention was on Eric. He pulled her down onto a couch with him, elegance and grace, guiding her and making every motion seem natural. 

She was ready to agree to anything to get him to keep touching her. 

But this…

It was enough to pull her back from the moment.

Sookie looked steadily at Eric. “Why?” 

“I want you to feel a part of what you make me feel.”

Sookie looked at him. Behind his aloofness he was like her, adrift. But here, now, he looked sincere, and almost wistful. She hesitated at first, then nodded. 

He shifted her hair back, moving her curls away from her shoulder. His hands stroked down her neck. 

He pulled her onto his lap. She was nearly eye to eye with him. 

She stared at him, uncertain. 

He licked his lips, and when her eyes were drawn to that movement she could see fangs. A spark of fear shivered through her. This was real. He wasn’t human. But then again, glass houses, stones… 

She didn’t want to be scared. She wanted to be brave enough to hold onto what she wanted. Sookie leaned forward in open mouthed kiss, just touching her lips to his, feeling the pressure of those long fangs behind the velvet of his upper lip. Her heart hammered.

  


* * *

  


He didn’t want to repulse her. He pressed the pad of his thumb into his fang, letting his blood well to the surface. He was old. Not much of his blood was needed for this. He traced it lightly along her bottom lip. 

He felt it when her tongue licked out. 

He was achingly hard almost instantly, the intense arousal that acting as a donor, crossing all sorts of unspeakable boundaries. He pulled his thumb back. Although it’d heal on it’s own, he starting the sealing process with a lick to the cut. It was something to focus on. The transgression was almost too much and he was full of want and need.

She pulled his hand back to her mouth, tongue tracing the healing cut with a little feral sound. Her mouth around his fingers was a wild promise.

He thrust up against her once before he caught hold of himself, taking in a breath of air he didn’t need. He leaned back, looking up at her, watching her expression change from wariness to wonder to desire. He could feel it. It was so intense. 

He leaned up, skimming his hands over her hips and pulling her flush against him. His fangs were out and he couldn’t remember them descending, they were just there.

He took her silken hair in his hands, pulled it gently to force her head backwards. He could feel the sharp pain, the thick pleasure that followed. He ran his tongue against the outline of the artery in her throat. 

“Is this what you want?” he asked, voice rough with need, unsure if he could truly hold himself back if the answer was no. 

But he could feel her through the bond of his blood, could feel the wild desire that mirrored his own. “Yes,” she whispered. 

This time, he didn’t hold back the wild, shared hallucinations the bond could bring. He could feel her readiness, her own desire echoing his. 

His fangs sank in.

  


* * *

  


Sookie had been waiting for so long. She dug her fingers into the back of his broad shoulders, gasped a little when he bit. The initial pain raced through her system, but it was chased by a heady wave of pleasure. It dulled and softened the first sharp spike into something throbbing, aching. Despite herself, she moaned. She froze, feeling him press himself into her, seeking the friction of her body. 

She grew dizzy, and a sudden fear spiked her heart rate. His hands curled around her, gripping her and pulling her close. He licked the wound, the edge of pleasure and pain blurring under the pressure of his mouth. The sensation of comfort warred with the thrill of being trapped. “Trust me,” he whispered, voice low and tender. He kissed her again, tentative until she opened her lips, seeking out the coppery, forbidden press of his tongue, her momentary fear shivering and dissolving into excitement.

His hand found the edge of her skirt, slipped underneath. He traced the tops of her stockings, his wrist bunching her skirt higher, letting her sink closer to to him until she could feel how turned on he was. 

It wasn’t just the reaction of his body against hers. She could feel her own desire, and something like an echo, like an added layer of want and hope and pleasure, when she drew her hand down to where he was hard against her. 

She couldn’t hear thoughts but she could feel what he was feeling; a doubling of emotions that blurred the moments together until she was no longer sure which were her own and which were his.

  


* * *

  


Afterwards, Eric dozed at her side, his fingers lightly trailing over her body as if he were loathe to stop touching her. She wasn’t sure if the contentment she felt was only her own, but it was easy to luxuriate in the sense of peaceful bliss.

“Do you think it’s still dark out?”

“Yes,” he said simply, utterly confident. 

The bliss had given way to curiosity. Sookie got up, borrowing the masculine dressing gown that had been lying across the back of a chair and cinching it tightly around her waist. Eric’s apartment spoke of money, styled with an outdated but elegant nod to art nouveau, heavy on beautiful pieces that were on the borderline of masculine. The wrought iron details and almost feminine touches were offset by the simple, heavy silhouettes of the furniture. The floor-to-ceiling wooden doors had attracted her attention. 

She opened the shutter, found a second layer, and opened those too, unhooking the heavy locks and pushing them out. 

There wasn’t any room on the balcony, not to do anything more than stand. But she looked out over the little streets of the neighborhood.

She didn’t hear Eric move, but wasn’t surprised when he wrapped himself around her, holding her gently to him. 

“You’re naked,” she whispered, faintly scandalized. 

“Yes.” Eric slipped one hand into the dressing gown she wore, apparently not worried about neighbors. Sookie’s ears heated with her self-consciousness, even as she felt her body begin to respond again. Eric bent close, his lips running over the shell of her ear and making her squirm back against him. He made a pleased sound. 

“What do you think of Paris now? Will you tell stories of how romantic it is?” His voice hovered somewhere between proud and teasing. 

Sookie twisted in Eric’s arms and leaned up for a proper kiss, wrapping her arms around his broad shoulders. A gentle kiss, one that spoke of knowing they still had time together. At least one more day. And after that… “I might,” she said lightly, “but you should remind me.” She meant it to be teasing, because certainly they deserved to keep resting. A shiver of desire followed his hand as it moved down her spine. An answering heat followed, and she wasn’t sure which of them were responsible. 

She felt his smile curve against her lips. “I think I can manage that,” he said, voice full of promise. He lifted her against him, hands curling around her thighs, carrying her back towards the bed. He set her down gently, looking deep into her eyes. Her words were once again stolen by the dark promises his smile offered. He edged down her body, hands spreading the robe around her, leaving her exposed to the chill night air. She gasped and reached to pull him against her. 

Eric pulled the silky sheet up over them, cocooning them away from the world outside.


End file.
